Eternity is a Very Long Time
by PokeRangerKellyn
Summary: Yamask, the cursed one. "These Pokémon arose from the spirits of people interred in graves in past ages. Each retains memories of its former life. Each of them carries a mask that used to be its face when it was human. Sometimes they look at it and cry."


Eternity is a Very Long Time

_They call me Yamask, the cursed one._

* * *

_Eternity is a very long time._

The young prince knew he had no power to live forever, but like many others, he could not help but seek immortality.

_A life that lasts forever is the only life that has meaning. _

He would be able to enjoy everything he has built up, never have to leave it behind. He would never have to fear death.

_Do you really want to live forever?_

He's passion for immortality soon turned into an obsession. It must have been so, for only the obsessed would have done what he did. He invoked the seal of death, sacrificed his own kind to the demon, even his king, his father.

_It would all be worth it in the end. A new leader will rise from the king's ashes. _

He pursued his vision restlessly; death came to him, but could not claim him. The prince greeted death like an old friend every time he came, as he fed death souls of others to take his place. Until finally, on that fateful evening, the ghost king came to the prince. The prince asked it for his wish. Immortality.

_Is there a life after death? Both are equally feared._

With a careless flick, the prince got what he asked for. Never dying, never growing. But death has greater cunning than he, and death is eternal. Never dying does not mean he could not be killed. Never growing does not mean he would never age.

_Be careful what you wish for._

Generations pass, people came into and left the world. He no longer had any sense of time, for it served no purpose to him. The world moved too fast, fast than he. He had no goal, for everything he achieved was torn down by others, others more driven, and walked with a purpose through their time. He was not one of them; he was a traitor to his own kind. For him, time was a circle that never ends, but they had a hand full of sand and treasured every grain. Every one of them wishes they had more, he would gladly give them all of his, if he could.

_Immortality is a fickle thing. Mortals covet it, and immortals curse it._

During the creation of the Bell and Brass tower, he hanged himself. When the first pokeball was made, he though himself off a cliff. During the birth of the first Porygon, he slit his own throat. When Mewtwo was cloned, he burned himself alive.

_The living is not permitted here, die and come back._

But no matter what he did, death's doors were closed to him. He called for death to let him in, let him move on from his miserable existence. He had nothing left; he could have nothing, for he belonged nowhere, and served no purpose.

_A life that lasts forever can have no meaning._

He was a wondering soul, his body had long faded. He rose and fell by the ghost king's hand, his memories haunted him; glimpses of his life before, flashes of what he used to have, visions of what could have been. He stared into his own hollowed eyes for years upon years. He was not alive, nor was he dead. He was stuck in the middle, between life and death.

_Why would you ever want to live forever?_

He saw everything; he watched wars play out, history and the history of history. But he cared nothing of it. Why would he? It did not concern him. He had seen too much, more than he would ever want. What more is there to experience? What more is there to know?

_Nothing can last forever._

When death finally came to him once more, it was at the end of everything, the world and worlds beyond, the people and people beyond, the stars and stars beyond, universes and universes beyond. They spun and mixed together. The history of matter. But yet, he could not leave this world they way others can. They were free to go as they pleased. He was stuck, stuck to watch the end of everything. No matter how wounded he was, or how many times he was killed, he could not die. He was not dead, but was he alive? Was he ever alive?

_There are things mortals are never meant to meddle with._

Nothingness. Empty, gaping blackness. Vortex of darkness. Lost hope, dreams that never came true.

_Creatures of darkness can only hide in shadows if they are drenched in light._

How insignificant we are, how stupid and small we are compared to the world, and the worlds beyond this world. They can do what they wish to us, and what can we do, but let them? What power can we ever truly hold?

_Do you know who you are? Or what makes you happy?_

Why can I not leave? Why must I stay here? This is my curse, to see everything, know everything, but yet, be utterly helpless and unable to change anything. Cursed to live, to be killed, and to age. But I can never die.

_Death is not a punishment, it is a release._

All things have one shot at life. Death is the forever that awaits them.

_You never realise what was there until it's gone._

I am the sole exception. I am a ghost, created into the abomination I am by my own ignorant obsession, a mark of the ghost king. Shunned by death itself. I am cursed to live, for all eternity.

_And eternity is a very long time._


End file.
